"Mother," at last said her little infant, "why do you cry?"
She took her on her knees. "Nothing, my darling," she replied.
"Then stop crying," he said, pressing his little hand on Mrs. Wentworth's cheek. "It makes me feel bad."
"I will stop crying, darling," she replied, drying her tears and smiling.
Smiles are not always the reply of the heart. We have seen men smile whoso whole life was a scene of misfortune, and yet this emblem of happiness has lit their features. It is outward show—a fruit, whose surface presents a tempting appearance to the eye, but which is blasted and withered within. Smiles are often like the fruit called the Guava. It is a beautiful looking fruit which grows in the West Indies, and to the taste is very luscious, but when examined through a microscope, it presents the appearance of a moving mass of worms. Its beauty is deceptive, nothing but a wretched view presents itself,
"Like dead sea fruit, that tempts the eye, And falls to ashes on the lips."
The child saw her mother smile, and the little heart forgot its hunger, and for a moment beat with joy. The gleam of sunshine that spread itself over him, did not last, for soon after the face of the mother assumed the same sad and cheerless expression, it had worn for many weeks. The child saw it, and again felt his hunger.
"Mother," she said, "give me a piece of bread."
"I will get some for you to-morrow," she replied. "There is no bread in the house this evening."
"I am so hungry," remarked the child. "Why is there no bread?"